


Such A Shame We Had To Find Out This Way

by DashFlintceschi



Series: Prompt Table [24]
Category: You Me At Six
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hand wavy mortuary knowledge, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Suicide, Trigger warnings for pretty much everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashFlintceschi/pseuds/DashFlintceschi
Summary: Josh is determined to prove that Dan didn't kill himself. The more he finds, the more he starts to doubt himself.
Series: Prompt Table [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/510521





	Such A Shame We Had To Find Out This Way

**Author's Note:**

> Number 40 - Self Harm/Suicide.

Max is the one who finds Dan’s body. They haven’t heard from him in a few days, which isn’t unusual when they’re home between tours. But something doesn’t feel right this time. So Max goes ‘round and lets himself in with the spare key.

The smell hits him first.

He pulls his t-shirt up over his mouth and nose and creeps into the house a little further. He’s hoping Dan’s just gone on a trip somewhere and something’s gone off in the fridge. He knows that’s not it, but he can hope. He slowly, nervously works his way through each room of the house, wishing he could relax a little with each empty room, but the smell wasn’t coming from the kitchen, and his gut instinct is telling him something he really doesn’t want to hear.

He leaves Dan’s bedroom for last. He’s so fucking scared, the smell is so strong here. He sighs in relief when he scans the room and it’s empty, but then he sees light coming from under a door and he remembers the connected bathroom. Please let it just be a blocked drain, please. He’ll do anything for it to just be some dumb thing they can all laugh at him for later.

He steps back out into the hall for a moment, taking the deepest breath he can and holding it as he moves quickly across the room and throws the door open before he gets the chance to chicken out. He doesn’t know if it’s the full intensity of the smell hitting him, or the sight of the slumped form on the floor that chokes him. He scrambles backwards out of the bedroom, almost falling down the stairs in his rush to get away.

He tries to force himself to take deep breaths once he’s outside, but he’s panicking and sobbing and it doesn’t really work. He calls 999 with shaking fingers and manages to get the point across after what feels like far too long. The operator tries to make him stay on the line with her, but he can’t take the calm softness of her voice and hangs up. He calls Josh, Matt, and Chris as he waits, and though they don’t really believe him; he must not have looked hard enough, Dan’s just sick, he can’t be dead; they still meet him at the hospital.

They intend on grilling him for information, but one look at his ashen, shellshocked face and the way he’s only barely not hyperventilating, and the words die in their throats. They still don’t fully believe Dan’s dead, but looking at Max, it’s obvious something is very very wrong. They wait for hours, none of them are really sure what for, but finally someone comes for them. The truth starts slowly sinking in as they realise they’re being led out onto the grounds to another building; the mortuary.

They’re all pale and shaking and huddled together tightly by the time they come to a stop in front of a curtained window. The mortuary assistant gently explains that they need them to formally identify Dan’s body, but she understands if they can’t do it. They take a moment to think it over and steel themselves, looking at each other and nodding a little before letting her know they’re ready.

They aren’t ready.

She pulls the curtain back and nods to another assistant on the other side of the glass. He gives them a small comforting smile, and carefully folds down the sheet covering Dan’s body. As soon as they see Dan’s face, Josh crumples. Chris only just catches him as Josh’s knees give out, pulling Josh’s face into his chest to muffle the keening wail he can’t stop. Matt and Max are frozen. Max feels like he should’ve been expecting it, at least a little, but he tried really hard not to look before, seeing his best friend so still and pale and drawn now makes his insides feel like ice.

Finally, Chris finds his voice.

“Can we see his right arm please?” He asks hoarsely, and none of them want to look, none of them want any sign that it’s really him. But the assistant in the other room carefully lifts Dan’s right arm so they can see it, and there’s no denying it anymore, they would recognise those tattoos anywhere.

They reluctantly give a positive identification, then the pathologist comes in.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but based on the level of oxycodone in his body, we’ll be ruling Mr. Flint’s death as a suicide.” She tells them gently, and Josh finally goes quiet as he stiffens and straightens up.

“No.” He can feel them all looking at him with pity, but he doesn’t care. “He didn’t fucking kill himself. I know that man better than I know myself. He wouldn’t. He didn’t.” He bites out, turning and leaving before anyone can say anything.

The three of them go looking for Josh once they finish talking to the pathologist. They find him in Dan’s house, sitting on the floor of his bedroom surrounded by his belongings.

“Jay…?” Matt hedges, and Josh huffs.

“He didn’t fucking kill himself, and I’m going to prove it.” He snaps, and they know he’s wrong, but none of them have the heart to say it. Instead, they just find gaps between the piles of Dan’s things to sit down, quietly glad the smell is gone.

They watch him silently for a while, growing more worried when Josh frowns and starts frantically digging through the piles.

“Where’s his bracelet? The silver chain one he never wears cause his dad gave him it. It should be here.” He barks, and Chris frowns, pulling up his sleeve slightly to reveal a flash of silver.

“Wait, this one? I didn’t know his dad gave him it,” he asks, and Josh stares at it in disbelief.

“Why do you have that?” He asks faintly, and Chris shifts uncomfortably.

“He gave me it last week, said he just thought it’d suit me. I didn’t realise…” He trails off, and Max and Matt squirm slightly.

“He gave me his share of our awards and stuff too, the other day. Said he figured it was time I had a turn with them. Only just noticed last night that he’d given me ones he’d won on his own too, I just figured he got mixed up.” Matt adds softly, and Max clears his throat quietly.

“He gave me the stuff he kept from Wembley.” He admits reluctantly, and Josh glares at each of them in turn.

“Well, he didn’t fucking give me anything. If he was planning to… do something to himself, he would’ve.” He bites out, and Chris makes a soft hesitant sound.

“There’s a box here, it’s got ‘For Josh’ written on it.” He tells him slowly, and Josh stares at him for a moment.

“It still doesn’t mean anything.” He insists, snatching the box as Chris slides it over to him.

He lifts the flaps on the box and goes still. There’s a pile of Dan’s favourite books, and what Josh thinks is the majority of his collection of little dragon statues, and a blanket and a few of his hoodies that Josh always steals because they’re so soft. He stares blankly down into the box for a minute, then slams the flaps back down.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” He repeats, voice slightly shaky this time, and still, they don’t argue, Max just reaches out and touches his shoulder, sighing softly in relief when Josh doesn’t push him away.

Josh continues searching Dan’s house for proof all day, every day until the funeral. He doesn’t find any. What he does find is a lot more things labeled for them or his family, a lot of empty whiskey and vodka bottles, and a little bag of what he thinks is cocaine. He flushes the latter down the toilet as soon as he finds it. No-one else needs to see it.

The four of them carry Dan’s coffin, along with his mum and sister. Josh doesn’t cry. He hasn’t yet. Even when he couldn’t stop making that god awful noise the day they found him; the day after he died; Josh’s eyes had been dry. He goes through the rest of the funeral in a daze. He knows people got up and spoke, thinks he might even have gotten up and said something. But the details are lost to him. He does know that no-one said The S Word, but he can tell everyone else is still thinking it.

He comes back to himself more during the wake. He wonders what caught his attention, then he hears them somewhere behind him. Matt and one of Dan’s aunts, he thinks. They’re talking about how different Dan had been the past few months, how hard it is now that none of them saw how short-tempered, distracted, and reckless he’d been, how none of them had realised what any of it meant. 

Josh wants to turn around and argue, almost does, but then he remembers. That one time he and Dan were getting lunch together, Dan had been driving. Dan had always been a good driver, had taught Josh himself how to drive, but that day… He’d been erratic, driving too fast and swerving and only just avoiding accidents. Until Josh had meekly announced that he was scared, and Dan’s whole demeanor had changed, like he’d only just remembered Josh was in the car, and it was his responsibility to keep them both safe. He’d slowed down and driven more carefully the rest of the way. Josh had just thought Dan had had something on his mind. Now he’s not so sure.

Josh goes back to Dan’s house one last time the day after the funeral. He uses the excuse that he knows where everything Dan had wanted each of them to have is, and he does intend on sorting it all and taking it to them. But he needs one last look first. He finally finds what he’s been looking for, but it’s not what he wanted to find.

As Josh is packing up everything Dan had labeled with his sister’s name, he spots a pile of notebooks peeking out from a cupboard that’s been left ajar. He goes to investigate, sitting on the floor with the pile in his lap, skimming through the one on top and immediately feeling guilty. It’s obvious from a quick glance that Dan had been using them as journals. 

He’s about to close it and put them away, when something catches his eye. All the pages so far have been uniform. Neat blocks of Dan’s small, neat handwriting. But one of the pages near the back is a mess. Large, scribbled letters, thick lines that’ve almost torn through the page, as if he’d gone over the words over and over. And the words themselves break Josh’s heart. Worthless. Useless. Expendable. Just die. He can’t stand to look at it anymore. But he needs to know how Dan got to that point. So he silently begs for forgiveness and starts looking through them all, sorts them from the earliest date to the last. And he settles down to read.

When it gets dark and no-one’s heard from Josh, Max goes to find him. He has a gut-wrenching feeling of déjà vu as he walks up the path to Dan’s house. The windows are dark and he’s filled with that same fear all over again. He feels bad later for how fucking relieved he is when he opens the front door and hears Josh’s loud, gasping sobs. But right then, all he feels is _thank fuck_. He follows the sound to the living room, and finds Josh huddled on the floor, surrounded by scattered notebooks and sobbing into his knees.

Max holds him and lets him cry, taking a quick moment when he knows Josh won’t notice to send a text to everyone letting them know Josh is okay. It takes a while, but finally Josh is quiet, leaning on Max’s chest as he takes shuddering, huffing breaths.

“He killed himself.” His voice is hollow, and all Max can do is nod as he sheds a few tears of his own.

The four of them are finally able to fully support each other and slowly start healing from the loss. But the guilt is so hard to deal with, and never goes away. The one thing that makes it easier for Josh is a few lines from one of Dan’s journals. He read them over and over that day, and they always stay with him.

_Spent the day with Josh, and I almost felt normal. He always acts like I might be worth something, like I’m important to him, and sometimes I almost believe it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am important._


End file.
